


Brushstrokes

by centaurianwisdom



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Art Conservator Magnus, Artist Magnus, Ballerina Catarina, Corporate Lawyer Alec, Denial of Feelings, F/F, F/M, Flashbacks, Intern Clary, Lovers to Friends, Lovers to enemies to lovers, M/M, Magnus is two years younger than Alec, Magnus's family is whole and happy, Post-Break Up, Raphael is Magnus's adoptive brother, Smut, artist Clary, consensual feminisation, reconnect
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-25 08:51:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18257921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/centaurianwisdom/pseuds/centaurianwisdom
Summary: It's been four years since Magnus last saw Alexander Lightwood, and seeing him now sets his heart off as much as it did when he first saw Alec in his freshman year.The last time he saw Alec was also pretty eventful, you see, because Magnus had pressed his engagement ring into Alec's slack hand and walked away from him.Magnus is an art conservator, and Alec is his newest client. Sparks fly, but will the fire keep them warm, or will everything crash and burn just like the last time?





	Brushstrokes

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!!! So this came to me when I started watching Art Restoration videos on youtube, and thought, well, this is pretty damned cool. I originally started writing this story for another fandom, but I didn't really feel it anymore, and I got into Malec, and thought, well this story fits them pretty well too, so why not adapt it to new characters? I kinda have this story all planned out, so all I have to do is to write this bad boy down. Easier said than done, what with hectic university life and assessments and shit. I will still try not to keep too much of a gap between updates. I hope y'all like this story!

2019

Magnus squinted down at the stretcher, noting the nails that held the canvas attached to its place. They were rusted iron, and he sighed. He’d have to use the pliers to pry them out. Tacks were always easier to get out, but he’s got to work with what he’s got. He carefully got the nails out, making sure to use precisely the amount of force required to pry them out, yet not damage or tear the canvas. He saw the lens of the DSLR camera sneak into his peripheral vision.

“You getting this, Biscuit?” he murmured distractedly. “Yes, boss,” Clary whispered back, voice heavy with reverence. Magnus bit back a laugh, remembering the excitement he used to feel when he was in Clary’s place, and he used to watch his mentor carefully restore old works of art till they looked brand new, yet retained their timeless appeal.

He lifted the canvas off the stretcher and carefully placed it flat on the worktable, topside down, revealing an authentic Richard Wilson. He motioned for Clary to keep the camera down, and handed her a broad brush. “There is a lot of dust accumulated on the back of the canvas, especially in the areas that were connected to the stretcher. One must take care to carefully brush that dust off, as the canvas must be clean from all sides.”

Clary nodded earnestly, relishing one of the few opportunities Magnus gave her to practice the art of restoration. It wasn’t that the girl was bad at the practice, Magnus mused, as he filmed Clary carefully brush the dust off the canvas through the tears at the folded corners. It was that Magnus was a perfectionist, and he was scared to let inexperienced hands touch the precious works of art. But as he got to know Clary better, he gave her more and more hands on work, because how else would the girl learn?

“Done,” Clary declared, looking proudly at the cleaned back.

“Good,” Magnus smiled. “Now turn it right side up.” And Clary did so with the utmost care.

They kept working all through the morning, taking turns with filming the process. It was a beautiful landscape painting, and looking at the small amounts of unsullied pigment at the corners of the painting, Magnus could surmise that the final colours would be wonderfully bright and saturated. He showed Clary how to identify the pigments used in that particular period in history, and how to mix a cleaning agent to suit the paint, so in the process of cleaning, no harm would come to the painting.

All too soon, it was afternoon. They were so in the zone that they hadn’t realised how the time had gone by, the only indication being the different direction of the sunlight that fell on the hardwood floors of the spacious studio, and the very loud growl from Clary’s stomach as Magnus expounded on the benefits of one solvent over another.

Clary looked highly embarrassed, red creeping in from her neck to take over her pale complexion, till her face was almost as fiery as her hair. Magnus laughed at her, and shook his head. “It’s ok, Clary. We’re human after all.” Clary smiled, relieved at Magnus’s good humor, and said, “Well its the first time you said so much to me at once.”

Magnus’s smile turned soft. “Well, I felt we should be more hands on with your education, otherwise you’ll never learn.”

Magnus carefully covered the canvas with plastic film and held it down with weights at the corners. He pulled the curtains over the large floor-to-ceiling windows of his studio and said, “You know what, lets just get lunch. My treat.”

Clary smiled, innocent as a puppy. She hopped off the bar stool kept in front of the worktable, hastily packing the camera away and sprinting to the door. “Well someone’s eager,” Magnus muttered, grabbing his wallet and keys and exiting the studio, locking the door behind him.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

Magnus was a mess following the end of his almost seven year long relationship. He was an art graduate, fresh out of Columbia with a degree in Art History and a masters in Art Conservation. Months of searching for actual employment and working as a barista at an artisanal cafe, having to eke out a living while living alone for the first time in his entire life had been, well, quite tricky, to be honest. Living a lonely existence in New York is no joke, and he was frantically looking for a roommate when Catarina came calling, having seen his advertisement on Craigslist. At first Magnus was wary, and he could hear Alec’s cautious voice at the back of his head, telling him not to trust the random strangers who showed up at the door, that too from Craigslist of all places, come on Magnus, you should know better.

But he roughly shushed his ex-boyfriend’s voice, and Catarina Loss, ballet dancer for New York City Ballet, put him at ease soon enough. She was tall, which skin the color of espresso and hair in braids. She was blunt and exceedingly smart, but above all she was the most graceful dancer Magnus had ever seen, and he should know: many a dance opera sponsored by Lightwood Performance Arts Foundation had been graced by his presence.

Sometimes, when he came home in the evenings, it would be to the smell of fresh baked apple pie and the tinkling notes of Moonlight Sonata. He would find the furniture of the already sparsely furnished living room pushed to the corners, and Catarina dancing gracefully, chest out, arms raised, on pointed toes. These were the evenings Magnus loved best, as he did today.

He closed the door softly so as not to disturb Catarina’s trance. He toed of his shoes by the door, deposited the keys in the bowl Catarina kept on the shoe stand, and went into the kitchen. He poured himself a glass of red wine and cut out a slice of the still warm apple pie, and ventured out into the living room again. He sat himself down on the sofa, watching the languid twisting of Catarina’s gorgeous body, and felt a wave of longing crash over him. He could fall in love so easily with this stunning woman. He could have. Catarina was definitely interested, but try as he might, he could not return the affection Catarina was ready to pour over him. But back then, the break up had been too raw. He missed Alec too much to see amorous advances his way. Whenever Catarina laid soothing hands on him, he would think of Alec’s hands....wrong size, wrong finger length, wrong width. Catarina’s arms around his waist would be too skinny, Catarina’s smile not quite right. Her eyes were black: deep and awe-inspiring, but all Magnus wanted were hazel, multi colored eyes, with flecks of deep gold and forest green. Catarina was patient, waiting for Magnus to love her back. They even fucked, and it was good, but....the drag of Magnus’s cock inside her did not have the same burning intensity as with Alec, he missed getting fucked by Alec and the twist of Catarina’s wrist on his cock, her tongue inside his mouth; it felt wrong, like cheating. And he could see he was breaking Catarina’s heart. So Magnus finally sat Catarina down, almost a year into living together, and four months into their relationship, and gently turned her down, because he was not in a place where he could consider pursuing a relationship right now. Catarina had cried, but she had understood. Magnus had even offered to move out if Catarina was uncomfortable with her living arrangement right now, but Catarina had shushed him, and now here they were, best friends in a lonely city, clinging tight to each other to avoid getting washed away by the teeming masses.

The pain did not burn him that intensely anymore; it had been nearly four years. But he could not risk Catarina’s heart and their friendship by attempting another relationship. So Magnus remained content to remain her friend, supporting her through everything.

Catarina’s dance ended with a deep bow, arms held aloft, and Magnus clapped, with an occasional Bravo thrown in. Catarina giggled and threw herself in the sofa next to Magnus and accepted the piece of pie Magnus held in front of her mouth, chattering about her day. Magnus leaned his head on the backrest of the sofa and let the conversation flood over him.

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

It was Saturday the next morning, and Catarina was stretched out on the sofa, staring at the TV with glazed eyes, the remote dangling from her lax fingers. The morning news buzzed in the background as Magnus fixed himself and Catarina bowls of muesli, adding fresh strawberries, banana slices and a drizzle of honey. The condition of his groceries had been pretty pathetic when he had just started living as a single man, because they were always taken care of by his parents and then by Alec, who was always the responsible one. When Catarina had come waltzing into his life, she tutted at his condition and dragged him off to Walmart , and then to the farmers market, and showed him how to shop for groceries. Now Magnus was a master at grocery runs and buying healthy produce.

He handed Catarina her bowl and snuggled down on his favourite cushy armchair, covering his feet with the afghan draped over its back. He snatched the remote from Catarina’s hand, and ignored Catarina’s languid “Heeeeyyyyy” and changed the channel till he happened upon a show that seemed interesting. It was a show about private art collections in New York, and for the next ten minutes he and Catarina oohed and aahed over the art on display and criticised the rich fuckers who owned them.

“Is it even right to hoard art like that?” Catarina asked heatedly. “Beautiful art should be public property.”

“Well they probably think they own the world,” Magnus drawled, now draped sideways on his armchair, empty bowl drying on the floor. “And, sshh, they are my highest paying clients.”

Catarina rolled his eyes. “As if it was ever about the money for you, Magnus.”

“Well, it’s not, but it’s a nice perk.”

“Well look at that rich jerk. Fuck he has a separate mansion just for his private collection. What the fuck even?”

“ And what does he even do with it?” Magnus groaned. And then it struck him. “Cat...we are bitching about them like others bitch about the Kardashians.”

“You gotta bitch about somebody, Magnus,” Catarina declared. “It is a form of stress relief.”

Magnus giggled, because why the fuck not. But his giggling stopped quite abruptly as the show started its next segment.

“Alexander Lightwood,” the narrator announced, “millionaire legal head of Park Industrial Group, and also the youngest of our featured collectors at only 32, has a tough reputation in the world of corporate law. He is a leading figure in the areas of corporate expansion and civil and property law, and has won many cases in courts ranging from Circuit Courts to the Supreme Court with panache and ease. He is cool in the face of pressure, and can rattle off laws, amendments, economic theories and precedents in conversation. But he does have a cultured side, an expansive and impressive private art collection which is a blessed relief from his hectic work life. He not only owns paintings, but also an eclectic collection of priceless statues, abstract sculptures and historic jewellery. He personally visits and bids at high level auctions, but is not beneath visiting pokey old antique shops either. Let us talk to the man himself and delve into the mind of a young art enthusiast.”

Catarina cleared his throat anxiously. “Magnus,” Catarina said in a nervous voice, “Let’s change the channel babe. We can watch something else.”

Magnus shushed her, leaning forward towards the TV, drinking in Alec’s handsome face. Oh, he hadn’t seen him for so long. He had taken himself off social media so he didn’t have to see Alec’s face and his life. And seeing him after such a long time was doing things to his heart.

He had aged well. He was lean and ridiculously fit in his flowy white t-shirt tucked into his fitted Armani trousers, which showed off his fabulously trimmed legs. He wore very expensive looking boots and looked extremely well groomed. His black hair was thick and shiny, slicked and combed away from his face. His hazel eyes were wide and bright and his face had lost its baby fat, becoming chiselled with a sharp jawline covered with a well groomed beard. It was as if the intervening years had only added to his beauty. Magnus’s jaw had dropped as he stared, awestruck, at the transformation of his ex-boyfriend; from an idealistic, puppy-cute law student to hardened, dangerously attractive, intellectually intimidating lawyer. He remembered very well the times when he tried to teach his very unfashionable boyfriend about fashion and grooming, and Alec had just swooped in and kissed him to shut him up.

Magnus wondered who had groomed him and taught him how to dress, because it certainly wasn’t him.

The interviewer and Alec were walking and talking in the garden of his estate in upstate New York. The garden was more of a carefully cultivated forest, with stone benches and tinkling zen fountains leading into a stream, cobblestone paths, and a ivy covered gazebo. It was, in fact, Magnus’s dream garden, that Magnus had described to Alec, a lot of times and in a lot of detail. Magnus wondered for a moment what that meant; if he still had a piece of Alec’s heart.

“Here we have Alexander Lightwood,” the attractive interviewer said, batting her eyelashes at a smiling Alec. Magnus felt an unexpected flash of fury. “Thank you for featuring in our program, Mr. Lightwood.”

“Thank you for having me,” Alec said, in his deep, beautiful voice. And fuck, there went Magnus’s heart, pounding double time. Alec’s voice always had that effect on him. Especially when that voice whispered nasty things in his ear when Alec was inside Magnus and....ugh. Magnus mentally slapped himself. This was no time to delve into a sexual fantasy. Fuck, maybe Magnus wasn’t as over Alec as he thought.

“So Mr. Lightwood-“

“Alec.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Call me Alec. Mr. Lightwood is too formal for me.”

“Oh, ok Alec,” the interviewer giggled, tucking her blonde hair behind her ear, looking at Alec from under her eyelashes. Magnus glared narrowly at her.

“So, as I was saying, what inspired your collection, Mr. – ah, sorry, - um, Alec?”

“Well, I had a dear friend,” Magnus buried his face in his hands, peeking out through his fingers, “who was an art student in my university.”

“Columbia?”

“Yes. So as our friendship progressed-“, Friendship indeed, Magnus snorted, “he used to take me to museums and art galleries with him for his Art Critique and Appreciation classes for company. I was pretty clueless about art, but when I saw these pieces, they tugged at something in me, so I, um, asked me to tell me more about the art. He was an Art History major, you see, and he explained the history behind those pieces, the frame of mind of the artist who painted them, and the conditions of that time and how that influenced the work. When I learned about the history of Sunflowers by Van Gogh, I started to see the painting in a new light. That’s when my fascination with art started, and that has remained with me ever since.”

He forgot to add that he thought I was the greatest work of art he had ever seen, Magnus thought bitterly.

“What draws you to art?”

“Well, I like reading about art.” Alec said, sitting down on one of his stone benches and gesturing for the interviewer to sit with him. “I want to know the history of the pieces and the artist’s mindset when they were creating it. I want art that tugs at my soul, that speaks to me. I don’t have any specific theme as such; I do not focus on specific eras or schools or styles of art. It could honestly be anything really. It could be Renaissance, Impressionist, modern or folk art; it could be a sculpture even. There are a few pieces that are quite damaged, but I bought them anyway, because they somehow resonated with me. If it tugs at me I will make it mine.”

Alec had always been possessive like that, Magnus mused. Maybe at the end I had just become a pretty possession to him. Like his art.

There were a few more questions, and then Alec led the interviewer into the gallery wing of his house. It was a spacious space filled with natural light, airy and sparkling. Paintings lined the walls, with displays showcasing eclectic jewellery and sculptures. Art also lined the hallways leading to the gallery, and there were also paintings in his personal living spaces that Alec said were not for public viewing.

“I’m all about the aesthetic life,” Alec said expansively in closing. “Living surrounded by art helps me romanticise my life more. I can leave the savage world of corporate behind and drown myself in a life filled with beauty, for however short a time.”

There used to be a time when he would be happy enough to drown himself in me. Before his tastes became more expensive, Magnus reminisced sadly.

“Magnus,” Catarina whispered, coming down from the sofa to sit on the armrest of his chair and putting her arms around him. “Are you ok?”

“He’s just another one of those rich fuckers,” Magnus said lifelessly. He heaved himself up and snatched the half filled bottle of wine from last night from the coffee table, and went into the balcony to drink.

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

Magnus combed his luxurious long locks till they sat pretty and bouncy on his head, brushing just past his chin. He applied kohl and mascara to his eyes and a glistening lip balm to his plush lips. He watched himself making his famous sultry eyes at the mirror. He felt sensuous and a little bit slutty, as he bit his lip and rubbed his ring adorned hand on his chest. He added diamond studs to his ears and put a sterling silver nose ring through his nose piercing, and smudged his kohl a little bit. He was now in the mood. He felt quite sexy in his threadbare, oversized sweater that slipped down a shoulder and exposed his golden flesh, and his black lace panties.

And now, to painting.

He sat down in front of the canvas stretched over his easel, and put a streak of red over it. He had felt horny as fuck after watching Alec’s program, and also really angry, for some reason, so he channelled his anger and his arousal into his art. He slashed streaks of red, orange and dots of gold that reminded him of the sun in Alec’s eyes. Alec’s passion for him, and then his work, was red, and Alec’s love, the soft way he held him, and the intriguing way he used to stare at Magnus was a mellow orange. He added streaks of blue in the midst of his warm colours, which vaguely took the form of a man and reminded him of the time when Alec’s love froze. Like ice. No longer fiery. He reserved the fire for other things now. The only thing that was passionate at the end of their relationship was how he fucked Magnus hard, tossing him like a rag doll as Alec got buff and Magnus remained slight, and how he channelled frustration into their sex, instead of his love.

He remembered how Alec used to love when Magnus played with his gender, in sex and in normal life. He adored Magnus in kohl and jewellery and oversized clothes, and preferred him to wear panties at home. Especially when they were making love, Alec liked to call him his princess just as much as he loved calling him baby boy.

Magnus remembered all of that as he swirled the colours. A practiced eye would see the form in his abstract painting, but everyone would be able to feel the emotions he had tried to convey. Magnus was not huge fan of abstract modern art, preferring the realism he would often restore. But sometimes definite forms could not convey emotions, and Magnus just wanted to channel what he felt here, instead of putting to canvas a particular concept.

What he needed was a really good lay, to be fucking honest.

He finished after working on it for two hours, pausing periodically to take a drink break. Catarina had left for her dance studio to teach a ballet class, after asking again and again if Magnus was ok till Magnus physically pushed her out of the door, assuring her he would be ok, and no, he wouldn’t do anything crazy.

He took his kindle and flung himself into bed, and started reading an ebook on Celtic mythology. After sometime, his phone, lying next to his pillow, started ringing. He picked it up lazily to see that Clary was calling him. He accepted the call.

“Hello,” he said lazily.

“Heeeyy Magnus,” Clary said brightly. “How are ya?”

“I’m good, Clary. What about you?”

“I’m good. Ok, listen, I just saw an email on our business account. It’s a new client.”

“Oh,” Magnus said interestedly, rising on his elbows. “What do they want us to work on?”

“They say it’s a Rembrandt!”

Holy shit. He had never restored a Rembrandt before. This was an amazing opportunity.  
“Are you sure its an original?”

“Yeah they say it was authenticated by experts.”

“Well, ok then. It would be an honor to do this job.”

“Oh yeah, and he also says that if we pull this off he’ll have more jobs for us.”

“Ok. this is wonderful news Biscuit. I’m so glad. What is this client’s name?”

“Alec Lightwood.”

It seemed that he had been splashed with ice cold water. Why had the universe decided to suddenly attack him with Alec? First the program, now this. He would have to refuse. He was already overloaded with conservation work, the gallery which represented his original works were pressuring him to put on a new show, a museum required him to authenticate some art....it would not be possible for him to accept a new client now. For purely professional reasons of course. Nothing else.

He would have to refuse Alec Lightwood.

“Hello? Hello Magnus? Are you still there?” Clary called out.

Magnus shook himself out of his reverie and said, “Yeah. Still here.”

“So should I fix an appointment with him?”

“Um, actually, no.”

“What?”

“You heard me, Clary. We can’t take new clients at the moment.”

“But, but, Magnus! It’s a Rembrandt!”

“I know, Clary. But we are simply too overloaded at the moment and I simply cannot compromise on quality of service and time of delivery. Are we clear?”

Clary sounded like he was going to protest but then she sighed deeply and gave up. “Ok, sir,” she said sullenly.

Magnus felt terrible. He was taking an opportunity of a lifetime away from his intern. But there was nothing he could do. Taking Alec would be....bad for business. Exactly. Though it was getting hard to remember that.

“I’m so sorry Biscuit. I hope you understand. Send him a very polite refusal. Also, I’ll let you test cleaning solvents on the Frida Kahlo on Monday, how about that?”

Clary sounded marginally happier when she said, “Got it boss. And thank you for that.”

“Not a problem. You’re a fast learner. OK, bye then.”

“Bye Magnus.”

Magnus tossed his phone back on the mattress and pressed his eyes and sighed deeply. Did he just make a huge mistake? He was tempted to check the email Alec had sent, but he was afraid too. Alec had to know who he was contacting, and yet he had decided to do so.

He opened his Gmail application, but another call came just then. It was his mother. His face lit up – calls from his mother, who lived in Boston, tended to do that.

“Hi Mom,” he said when he accepted the call. “How are you?”

“I’m good, cintaku,” his mother’s warm voice replied. “And how is my bayi doing?”

“Eh, I’m alright.”

They continued to talk about this and that, with his mother filling him in on the latest gossip from the neighbourhood, and he regaled his mother with tales of some of his more eccentric clients. Very soon he was laughing and rolling his eyes, completely forgetting about his dilemma.

“How’s Dad?” he asked finally. “How’s heart and his blood sugar?”

His mother sighed heavily. “He just doesn’t listen sayang, he’s like a little child that way. He won’t eat steamed vegetables, and he still devours chocolate bars like the world is ending. And when I try to say something, he sulks and stares at me with those puppy eyes of his till I give up. I just don’t know what I will do with that man. Please don’t be like your father. Be nicer to your wife. Or husband.”

Magnus tsk-ed. “You want me to talk to him?”

“I’d like that actually. Maybe he’ll listen to you. God knows he doesn’t listen to me.”

Magnus rolled his eyes fondly. Mom said such stuff, but he knew that she was as in love with his step-father as she was 30 years ago when she married him.

“The doctor has recommended him to another heart specialist in Boston Hospital, sayang,” his mother told him anxiously. “They just upped his medicine dosage and gave him newer and more expensive ones. Everything is so expensive....I don’t know what to do. And we have to save for Raphael’s university as well.”

“It’s ok, Mom,” Magnus soothed. “Its what I am there for. I’ll help with the money ok? Don’t you worry. Where’s dad?”

“I sent him to the stores to get some spices. He also has to pick Raphael up from his swimming class.”

“Ok then. I’ll talk to him later ok?”

“Alright cintaku. Take care, baby.”

“You take care too mom. I love you.”

Magnus sighed explosively. His dear, sweet dad. The man liked to eat, that’s all. But he had to take care of himself too.

He checked Alec’s mail.

Oh fuck.

It was the most impersonal email in the history of emails, probably typed by his secretary. Yes, the painting was a Rembrandt. It was damaged, with some paint missing, and some punctures and tears with a deep layer of grime. Alec was available for a consultation appointment on Wednesday, Thursday and Friday from 3 pm to 5:30 pm. Also, Alec was willing to offer four hundred dollars per hour of service.

Fuck.

That’s way, way more than he normally charged.

And now, of all times, he could really use the money to help his family and put some money into his brother’s college fund. Shit. He could already see the reply Clary had sent, politely declining the offer and directing Alec to another renowned art conservator.

Dammit. Maybe he had been too hasty. Maybe he could have squeezed in another client.

No, his other side argued. We cannot compromise on quality.

Magnus buried his head into his pillow and screamed.

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

_He was back in front of the mirror, in his darkened room, with just his yellow dressing table light on. He had impeccable makeup on his face, with smoky eyes. His black hair shined in the golden light, smooth and brushed, with strands falling over his face. Diamonds twinkled in his ears, and his nose ring glittered gold. His lips were sparkling with expensive glitter lipstick. He was wearing an oversized, almost see-through white shirt, halfway unbuttoned, falling open at his chest and exposing flawless golden skin. He wore fine silk, black panties, and he could feel anklets on his feet. He ran his fingers on his smooth face, and noticed a black gunmetal band on his ring finger. He squinted at it. Indeed, it was his engagement ring. He had worn it for a year and a half, hoping and waiting for a marriage that had never come._

__

__

_But why was he wearing it again. Hadn’t he given it back to Alec? And speaking of Alec-_

_Long, strong and muscled arms encircled his waist from behind before he could complete that thought. His back hit a firm chest and he could feel legs behind his own. The arms around his waist tightened and a chin hooked over his shoulder. He stared into the mirror, shocked. 32 year old Alec was staring back at him, his mouth set in a dangerous smirk._

_“A-Alec,” Magnus stuttered, feeling irrationally scared._

_“Yes, my love?” Alec breathed into his ear, biting his earlobe. One of his arms shifted his tight hold on him. Shifting upwards till one of his enormous hands fastened on his pec, and whoa, those hands had just covered it up entirely._

Magnus breathed deeply, and he could feel how Alec’s tight grip was constricting his ability to breathe in the best way. The hand on his chest squeezed his pec, and then one of his fingers started circling his nipple.

_“Wh-what are you doing here?” Magnus stuttered._

_“Here to see my baby, of course.” Alec said lowly. “Wanted to see my princess, see how he’s doing, if he’s alright.”_

_“I’m, um. I’m ok,” Magnus said, nodding frantically, and fuck, he was not this timid, mostly. He felt a little ashamed of himself for failing to get a grip, but something about Alec’s hands, his eyes, were making him completely lose his mind._

_“You can go now. Now that you’ve checked up on me and everything,” Magnus rasped._

_“Aww babe,” Alec chuckled. “I came quite far to see you, you know. Are you simply going to send me away empty handed? You already refused to conserve my art work for me, so you should give me something else.”_

_Magnus knew exactly what he was talking about, still he had to ask._

_“What do you want, Alec?”_

_“You, my love. You and your lovely body. I need to be inside you as soon as possible baby.”_

_Magnus shuddered at those words, eyes slipping close, unconsciously biting his lips. He opened his eyes with a small cry as he felt teeth dig into his shoulder._

_Alec shushed him soothingly, and continued to work a mark over his shoulder, till the golden flesh over there had turned black and blue._

_“Beautiful,” Alec muttered worshipfully, kissing the mark tenderly. Magnus closed his eyes, and let his head fall back on Alec’s broad shoulder, exposing more of his neck. Alec kissed tenderly up his neck, until he was not, pressing his tongue hard against the delicate skin of his neck and nipping there, leaving little bright red marks. He bit and kissed his way along Magnus’s jaw, and then swept upwards, kissing all along his cheeks and his nose and his temple._

_He turned Magnus around to face him and leaned in close to murmur against his lips: “Can I kiss you, Magnus?”_

_Magnus’s eyes fluttered open, and he watched Alec’s pupils dilating further at the sight till his eyes were darker. “Yes, Alec,” he whispered, because yes, he had wanted Alec’s kiss for four years, and he was not about to deny him now._

_Alec leaned down and covered his lips with his own chastely. But then his tongue poked out and he slid it along Magnus’s lips, asking for entry, and of course, Magnus gave it to him. Alec’s tongue entered Magnus’s mouth and proceeded to ravage the fuck out of it. He licked into every crevice of his mouth, not even allowing Magnus to do anything except take it. Alec had Magnus tight by the waist and hips, and Magnus’s hands were in Alec’s neck and tangled in his thick, black hair. Magnus gasped and moaned as Alec bit and licked Magnus’s upper and lower lip, wiping away the lipstick and leaving traces of glitter all around Magnus mouth._

_Alec bent on his knees till he was Magnus’s height, and he wrapped his arms around Magnus’s ass and lifted him up, Magnus’s legs automatically going around his waist. Alec walked them towards the bed, still attached to Magnus by the lips. He finally disconnected his lips from Magnus and simply dropped him on the bed. Magnus bounced on the bed once, twice, already feeling fucked out. Alec followed after him, crawling up the bad like a predator, hungry eyes fixed on him. He bent away for a moment, switching on the bedside lamp, which flooded Magnus’s body with a golden glow._

_“Fuck, you’re beautiful baby,” Alec said reverently. He then fastened his fingers on the shirt, and ripped it open so harshly that the buttons went flying. He tore it off Magnus’s body and flung it off the bed. He fastened his teeth around the waistband of his panties and drew them down his legs slowly, his hands following after the panties, feeling his waxed, smooth skin. He then flung away the panties as well, and then he was on Magnus again as Magnus let out a breathy “Alec.”_

_Alec stripped off his clothes in record time till he was naked and kneeling on the bed in front of Magnus, his gorgeous, cut body completely visible to Magnus. Magnus sat up and ran his hands down Alec’s chest, feeling his muscles, awestruck. And-_

Magnus woke up, drowning in sweat and with a raging hard on. He pressed down hard on his dick, swearing up a storm. He got off the bed and threw off his t shirt and pajamas so he was left only in his boxers. He cleaned himself off with his towel and tried to think about the grime he took off the Ave Maria painting a few days back to make his boner go down.

Magnus changed his sheets and slowly collapsed back into bed, mind still going over his dream, and Alec was so beautiful and loving. He had missed his Alec, his sweet, idealistic lover, who had once wanted to join Legal Aid. Magnus doesn’t know what changed along the way. It was perhaps a mixture of Alec’s own ambition to make it big, coupled with proving his detractors (of which there were many) wrong. Add to that the pressure from his influential family and well, Alec was a very, very successful lawyer now, a famous man in his fraternity in his own right, and not just as the son of Democratic politician Robert Lightwood.

Magnus turned over in his bed, rumpling up the sheets, cuddling the blankets as the closest approximation to an actual human body. Alec probably slept with a different, sexy warm body every night, Magnus thought bitterly.

2009

Magnus was a broke art student, living in a student dorm with absent roommates, trying to juggle his job and maintain his grades. He was a sophomore, barely out of his teens, and his inspiration was at an all-time low. He tried to paint something unique, that was truly signature Magnus Bane, and nothing came out at all. His sketches were messy, his concept was lost, and the high of making it into Columbia was gone as the very real pressures of University came crashing down upon him.

Magnus sighed heavily at the dark thoughts whirling in his head, trying to concentrate on his surrounding as he hurried home from the library at about 10 pm at night. His bag was burdened with heavy books on Modern Art and Ideas, and he was had two sketchbooks and a sheet-holder crammed under his arms. In his free time (which was quite precious to him now), he had played around with fashion design, with half a sketchbook filled with ideas for gowns, dresses, tops, pants and South Asian ethnic wear like Lehengas and Salwar-Kurtas. He quite liked designing them, and New York was very inspirational when it came to fashion.

He was thinking of a nice Indian ethnic kurta he could design for Raphael and also fixing himself a nice cup of masala tea at home when suddenly a heavy body knocked into him from behind. His slight body was nearly knocked over and he dropped his sketchbooks. His sheet-holder rolled away into the dark corner of the street. “Shit!” he exclaimed, as he tried to pick up his precious sketchbooks and face his assailant at the same time. He whirled around and was shocked to find a knife pointed at his face. 

The man holding the knife was dressed in sweatpants and a hoodie, with a beanie stuffed on his head for some reason. And that, coupled with the insane amount of stress Magnus was under and his occasionally inappropriate sense of humor, pushed Magnus over the edge and he collapsed into hysterics.

So of course, his assailant was confused. “The fuck you laughing for?” he growled.

Magnus, who was now doubled over laughing, with tears streaming down his cheeks from his bloodshot eyes, was quite confused himself, to be quite honest. He was scared as fuck somewhere in his brain, but he couldn’t get over the hilarity of “Beanie on your head, bro,” Magnus hiccuped.

The mugger, groped at his beanie, face growing more alarmed by the second. “What about it?” he said gruffly. 

“Like, you have a hoodie, and you also have a beanie, like, why? And you obviously want money, and I don’t have any, and that’s hysterical, because you should only steal from the rich, not broke-ass college students who are stressed outta their minds.”

The attacker seemed to be conflicted for a moment, but just as Magnus was getting hopeful that he would get away without any bloodshed (and let’s be honest, almost all the blood would be from Magnus’s scrawny body), the attacker’s face hardened again.

“Gimme that watch, boy,” he sneered.

Magnus grasped the watch to his chest. He could not ever part with it. It was his step-father’s gift.

The robber waved his knife in his face.

“I’ll gut your worthless ass right now if you don’t give it to me right now. Oh, and your laptop and phone as well.”

Magnus felt tears prick his eyes, those of helplessness and fear now. But there would be no use begging. He knew he would be stabbed right here and be left to bleed to death without any hesitation.

As Magnus went to unfasten the watch from his wrist, teardrops falling on the glass face, there was a loud thunk and the mugger suddenly collapsed.

Behind him stood a boy, black hair in a crew cut, with beautiful hazel eyes sparkling, a heavy book with gilded lettering on the cover held aloft in arms. 

He lowered the book and got on one knee and checked the mugger’s pulse. Satisfied that he was still alive, he got back up and tucked the book back into his shoulder bag.

“I mugged the mugger with a law book,” he said smugly.

“Ironic, and iconic,” Magnus giggled, wiping away his tears and fastening his watch back, thanking God for his saviour. He picked up his sketchbooks and turned away, squinting into the dark corner of the street for his sheet holder, which contained his assignment.

“What are you looking for,” said a voice behind him.

Magnus half turned to side eye his savior and said, “My sheet holder rolled into the dark corner, and I can’t find it.”

The stranger smiled kindly. “Not to worry,” he said soothingly. He fished out a fancy BlackBerry from his pocket, and activated the flashlight, flooding the corner with light. The sheet holder was easily discerned. Magnus ran to grab it.

The stranger (extremely cute stranger, now that Magnus paid attention to the face washed in the street light) was still there, as if he was waiting for Magnus.

“Hi, I’m Alec,” he said, flashing a brilliant smile with crinkled eyes, holding out a hand to shake.  
‘Firm grip’, Magnus thought, as he looked into Alec’s eyes and could not seem to look away from them.

“Let me walk you to your place?” Alec said, still holding on to his hand, more loosely now. 

“You really don’t have to. I live only two blocks away, I can make it back.”

“Please? It would make me feel better.”

Fuck, Magnus couldn’t say no to those eyes.

“Sure.”

They didn’t move.

Alec’s hand was burning warm in his grip.

Alec was staring with wide, wide eyes.

Magnus gasped, and covered it up with a cough.

“Um, you can let go now,” Magnus said shyly.

Alec immediately let go, face pink. His hand (rather massive hands which made Magnus’s look doll-like in comparison), rubbed the back of his neck.

Alec stepped around the unconscious mugger and fell into step with Magnus.

Magnus was suddenly feeling a lot more refreshed. Maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe it was something else. Something that Magnus didn’t want to put a name to. Not just yet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

2019

Magnus was talking Clary through the various kinds of solvents and how to test them on a Frida Kahlo painting when there was a knock on the studio door. Magnus paused and glanced at Clary.

“Did we have a client consultation today?” Magnus asked, confused.

Clary shook her head no. “Not any that I’m aware of?”

“You’re my assistant Biscuit, you’re supposed to know this shit,” Magnus ribbed her, rolling his eyes.

Clary got anxious, as if she could see her internship slipping away from her. “No, no,” she said anxiously. “I’m pretty sure there is no consultation this morning. There is one at 3 in the afternoon, but-”

“Biscuit,” Magnus said, trying to hold back a laugh. “It’s ok, I know you’re thorough. I was just messing.”

Clary visibly relaxed.

“Get the door, please Clary,” Magnus said kindly.

Clary rushed up to the door to answer it; the knocking had gotten more insistent.

Magnus turned back to the painting, teasing at the painting with a cotton swab dipped in solvent. He heard the shuffling of footsteps, and then jerked up to look at the stranger when he heard their voice. Deep, resonant, warm. He would recognise that voice in the crowd of Times Square.

He didn’t want to look around, he really, really didn’t. He squeezed his eyes, mustered up his courage and turned to look at the newcomer.

And fell straight into Alec Lightwood’s warm hazel eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos are love, and comments are soul-food. Come scream at me in my Tumblr (centaurianwisdom.tumblr.com !!


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